


Down by the River

by Pygmy Puff (ppuff)



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Fix-It, Javert (background), Javert Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 04:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17994554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ppuff/pseuds/Pygmy%20Puff
Summary: It takes two people to save Javert: a not-quite enemy and an almost-friend.Or: BBC Les Mis gave us Rivette and Valjean's "Javerrrt!!!" Naturally, Javert must live so he can one day appreciate them both.





	Down by the River

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the similarities and differences between Valjean and Rivette in how they relate to Javert, so here it is, my fix-it for this new canon!

**Valjean**

“Javert!”

“Javert?”

“JAVERT!”

Jean Valjean ran and ran. He ignored the sense of certain doom rising in him, quashing the ever-growing inner voice that was questioning his sanity with each stretch of his stride. The thief chasing after the policeman. Why was he doing this? Had he followed the Bishop’s path for too long and lost the ability to be selfish, or worse, completely lost his mind? He’d tried everything to be good. Yet here he was at the end of his years, and he didn’t feel so different. Perhaps Javert was right, men like him could never change. He could never outrun who he was: Jean Valjean, beast and man. The convict battling against the gentleman.

_I shouldn’t go after Javert._

_I_ must _go after Javert._

_The streets are dangerous, they are no place for a gentleman._

_The streets shroud convicts, it is right for me to be out._

_Go home. Get Cosette and flee._

_Protect Cosette, yes. But_ Javert _–_

_Javert? Be rid of him, I say! This was his mistake –_

Jean Vajean came to a halt, his heart racing too fast as he rested his hands on his knees, gasping, coughing, heaving.

No. Even the convict in him knew this to be a lie. He knew full well Javert’s vanishing was no mistake.

As much as Javert would shudder to consider it, Jean Valjean knew him. They used to work together! Two years at Montreuil may amount to nothing but shameful memories for a certain proud inspector, but Javert’s instinct was correct and his suspicion over the beloved mayor forced two natural enemies, such as they were (though he supposed both of them knew this to be false deep down), to learn to read each other in all too short a time. And this knowledge told Valjean that what transpired was no accident.

Breathing deeply to slow his heart, Jean Valjean resumed wandering the streets in a brisk but less frantic pace. He thought back to the ride in the fiacre, of how the normally impeccable inspector sat with slumped shoulders and a buckle below his collar that was not fastened correctly. This person who was only half-looking at him felt like a stranger, a Javert-shaped exterior devoid of the man that he knew inside.

A Javert fierce like a lion would strike fear into the heart of Jean Valjean the convict.

A Javert _despondent_ , however, was causing an even greater terror now in the heart of Jean Valjean the man.

Paris’s streets were deserted at this hour of the night, and he was glad for it. Chasing after someone who had the authority to arrest him was foolish even by the standards of the many foolish things he had done. The voice of reason rang loudly in his ears, speaking sense against his every step. He should turn around, return home to his precious Cosette and see her one final time before he would lose her to the boy she loved.

And yet...

Javert was not well, and Jean Valjean refused to withhold charity even from a man who wished to cause him harm.

Thus decided, he set his heart and steps toward the direction of the Palais de Justice—the place where policemen were found. His mind was void of any plan on what he would do when he reached there, and he took comfort in the realization that this was not so unfamiliar. A lifetime ago, there was the journey of the imposter mayor, his reluctant pilgrimage to Arras where he managed to do right by the Bishop. There, he had sacrificed himself and was in due time awarded with Cosette. Tonight, no award would await him.

As he neared the Île de la Cité and came across a divergence that would lead him toward steps to descend onto the path along the Seine, a sudden thought came to his mind. Javert was patrolling the mouths of sewer waterways earlier. Perhaps he would find him near the water again. For all that he had resigned himself to the inevitable, if he could be arrested away from the den of lions, he would be grateful for this small mercy.

Turning toward the river, Jean Valjean hastened his steps.

-

**Rivette**

“Inspector?”

Rivette’s own voice echoed back toward him in the empty police station house. He didn’t expect a response, not at this hour of the night when even Inspector Javert had presumably gone home. He should have followed his superior out instead of indulging his curiosity on what was in the letter. How much time had gone by, minutes, hours?

“Monsieur?”

But of course the outside of the station house was as empty as the inside. What did he expect, that someone who had never failed to make his loathing of idleness known would linger while he waited for Rivette to finish the letter? But there was a feeling deep within his bowels, a sense that Rivette had come to know as his intuition, and this sense was screaming that the inspector hadn’t simply gone home...

“Javert!”

Silence.

Rivette hesitated—one of his many greatest flaws according to the inspector (never thinking quickly enough, never acting fast enough, and certainly never reading the mind of his superior accurately enough)—hoping for angry eyes to come upon him for daring to address an authority with such insolence. But the streets remained empty, and he knew it was up to him to decide whether to disobey a direct order concerning the delivery of the letter so he could go after the inspector.

Rivette let out a scoff. This was no moment of decision. The night was too deep to disturb the Prefect on any matter, certainly not on this curious list of what seemed to be trivialities concerning the practices of the bagne guards. Rather, what was most worrisome at hand was his inability to locate one police inspector. Wherever the— _Javert_ , he could very well _think_ his name, thank you very much—had gone, Rivette knew he didn’t want to be found.

He knew him: the Chief Inspector, his surly superior, and always in the recesses of his own mind, Javert. They worked together, for God’s sake. Javert had single-handedly wrought order out of chaos from the team of policemen he inherited, enforcing discipline where there was once rampant lazing about. Many would say it was all done through fear, but Rivette knew better. Javert was as tough on himself as he was on his team. The man was utterly irreproachable, and that inspired respect.

He had come to admire Javert’s relentless pursuit after a longtime fugitive.

But a Javert who was almost docile, who let that same criminal go free? This... concerned him.

Perhaps for a greater man than he, the concern would manifest as indignation over how law and justice had been overturned by an inspector’s single act. But Rivette was too undistinguished, too ordinary to engage with grand ideas. His present concern was only about Javert and how subdued he had been, how weary and _defeated_.

Javert was not well.

The thought propelled Rivette away from the police station, his feet first walking, then running, over paved streets and toward the bridge, each footfall sending his heart slamming against his ribcage. His eyes simultaneously saw the empty streets of Paris and his last image of Javert, slumped in his chair and showing every bit of his weariness accumulated over the past day at the barricades. That image scared him the most. It was as if he was looking at a false Javert, an imposter. Whatever had happened over the past day must have utterly shaken the inspector so that he was no longer himself.

As he made his way off the Île de la Cité, a shadow caught his eyes: the mouse of a man scurrying into the night, looking far too self-satisfied for his miserable existence. Thénardier.

An agent of the law would chase after a wanted criminal. But tonight, Rivette was not a policeman. He was (dare he say?) a friend searching for someone who needed help. Perhaps Javert was patrolling the path along the river and Thénardier was fleeing from him. But Thénardier didn’t look to be in a hurry, and the Javert he knew would never abandon pursuit. Could it be that –

Shrieks of laughter filled his head as the Thénardier of his mind pointed a mocking finger at him. Dear God above, what if the brigand and his gang had overpowered Javert?

All rational thoughts fled his mind as Rivette ran toward the underbelly of the Pont au Change from where Thénardier had emerged.

-

**Javert**

“Officer...” Jean Valjean pleaded, gasped as he barely managed to lift his head off the ground, having expended all his energy pulling a drowning man from the river and rolling them both onto the narrow landing on the side of the river. Even in the dark and through bleary vision, he recognized the man running toward them as one of the policemen under Javert’s command. “Officer, please help...”

Hands were on Javert at once, testing his breath and trying to compress water out of his chest. The man—Rivette, if he recalled correctly from mere hours ago—had acquired a wild air about him and was not gentle in his attempts to revive Javert. He was at once speaking to the unconscious man (using his given name!) and mumbling to himself. Valjean could pick out pleas and threats and the myriad ways Rivette was taking the Lord’s name in vain. Even in his exhausted state, a huff escaped from Valjean’s throat. Was he dreaming, just as men near their expiration were wont to experience visions? Had Javert, the severe enforcer of the law, managed to acquire a friend?

Gathering all his strength, Valjean pushed himself up by the elbows and into a sitting position. He could leave now. Javert was unconscious and Rivette was too fixated on his task to notice anything around him. Whether Javert would live or die was beyond his control. He had done his duty. He no longer owed him anything.

Just as Valjean rose to his feet, Rivette exerted a forceful push to the chest, sending water gurgling out of Javert’s mouth. Valjean took a step back, then another. Now was his chance. There could be no delay.

But Rivette didn’t seem satisfied with clearing a drowned man’s lungs of water. “Javert?” he called, over and over as his hands kept pushing forcefully. “Javert!”

Rivette was clearly not going to stop until Javert regained consciousness.

Javert showed no sign of waking.

Perhaps if he stole out of here, Javert would be destroyed by the hands of one of his own. This would be none of his doing and he would become a free man without sullying his hands. Valjean took another step, and one more. Then he paused.

A prickling deep within his bosom, and Valjean knew his conscience had roused to life. He fought the burning in his heart for some seconds, but his legs rebelled against his will in deference to his soul and retreated no further—he was going to stay. Here again was an act devoid of any sensibility, but even as the threat of iron clapping over his hands and feet was becoming reality, he knew there was no other way.

Valjean refused to give into his baser nature and lose himself to despair, refused to let the flow of the Seine turn into the crashing waves of the Toulon sea. To remain was right, for leaving a man to his fate was unacceptable no matter the reason or circumstance. And this was no stranger like Champmathieu but Javert, a good man! His conscience forbade him to bargain help as if it were something to withhold. The Bishop didn’t turn him away. He had no right to turn away from Javert now.

Sighing, Valjean approached the two men. “Officer, you should stop now.”

Javert had coughed up much water and should be able to breathe on his own. This was not the time to break his ribs.

“Officer Rivette, please. You will do him damage if you continue like this.”

His back to Valjean, Rivette kept on pushing.

Seeing no other option, Valjean seized the officer by the shoulders. “I say enough!” he bellowed as he wrestled the protesting body away from Javert. He managed to flip their positions so he was standing in between the two policemen. Rivette lunged at him as if trying to break through a barrier, only to be pushed back against the wall that was the foot of the bridge.

“Javert. Will. Live,” Valjean breathed hot against Rivette’s face, pinning wild eyes with his own, ignoring demands to be let go that were more screams than words. “Javert. Will. Live,” he said again and again, not so much to be heard as it was to calm the man, just as he used to do with Cosette when she awoke from a nightmare crying. For minutes, Rivette strained against him and it took Valjean all his remaining might to keep him from breaking free. But the words eventually sank in and Rivette ceased his struggles.

“Javert will live,” Valjean said a final time to an answering dip of the head.

“I... sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Pardon me, monsieur...”

Their eyes connected, and Valjean saw first surprise, then recognition. His stomach sank.

“You! You are the one Javert freed. Jean Valjean!”

Jean Valjean, he expected. But –

 _You are the one Javert freed_.

He pushed Rivette higher up against the wall, taking no heed of the man’s yelp as his feet lost purchase against the ground. Valjean wasn’t a tall man, but somehow he was eye-to-eye with the officer, his own narrowing ones meeting the other’s widening in alarm. “What did you say?”

Rivette’s hands encircled his wrists to try to pry them off of his shoulders, but Valjean pushed harder, pinning the man to the wall as his world tunneled into those coveted syllables that now clouded his head. Words were tumbling out of Rivette’s mouth but he heard none of it. Feet kicked into his shins, but the pain felt distant.

 _Impossible!_ His mind thought over and over, until he realized he had said the word aloud—roared it, perhaps—for Rivette’s mouth clicked shut and his legs were no longer under assault. He was breathing heavily. They both were. There was a ringing in his ears.

Then, Javert coughed up some more water.

“Javert!” both men called out at once.

They turned to each other, startled. In a flashing moment of clarity, Valjean saw in himself and Rivette two men whose shared reason for being here was Javert and whose singular goal was to keep Javert from succumbing to the river. What was he doing, assaulting an officer of the law, the very person who was trying to ensure Javert would live? He had asked for help and Rivette had answered. They were no enemies.

He lowered Rivette and released his grip. “I, ah... my apologies.”

Rivette dipped his head curtly. His gaze then softened as he turned his eyes toward Javert, as if sight alone could will the stubborn inspector out of his river-induced slumber. But neither sight nor the cough had roused Javert, though it was now clear to both of them that he was breathing steadily on his own.

Javert would live indeed.

“You show great concern for him,” Valjean observed. At Montreuil, those who worked under Inspector Javert regarded him with fear. Yet this officer was looking at him as if he cared.

There was much he didn’t know about Javert, he realized. How he came to command a team of his own in Paris, or what he had accomplished over the years to win the loyalty of men like Rivette. Was it possible for Javert to inspire love instead of fear? God knew he himself was no longer the same man as he was in Montreuil, not after Cosette had changed him. Who then was Javert now, what sort of man had he become?

“As do you.” It was Rivette’s turn to observe him, and Valjean could feel the weight of his appraising gaze. “Most criminals don’t return to their captors, not even after they’re freed. Who are you, Jean Valjean, to save his life at the risk of your own?”

Here it was again, this talk of freedom...

“Of course, I suppose you could have been the one to push Javert into the water. But we both know that is not what happened, don’t we? You because you know you didn’t do it, and I, well, this doesn’t speak well of me, but I felt this sense of premonition, earlier. It was as if I knew he would, ah, do harm to himself.”

Sensing a shift in the air, Valjean cast a glance at Rivette. The officer had become pensive, his eyes fixed on the ground and his hands sunk into his trouser pockets. Even without seeing the flush that was coloring his cheeks and neck, Valjean could tell that shame had staked a claim on Rivette and was now accusing his heart. But failing to predict someone’s actions wasn’t a sin.

“Inspector Javert wasn’t himself tonight.”

Rivette shook his head. “No, he wasn’t.”

In proximity like this, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, Valjean thought he could taste the regret that laced Rivette’s words. He knew this state of mind, was engulfed in it that night when he was caught with a loaf of bread in his hand. _Please, he wasn’t himself_ , Jeanne had pleaded in vain to both the gendarmes and the baker. He had thought those same words too: something must have prompted him to steal. Hunger, yes, but something different, something more. His nephew’s sickness. The cold weather. His failure to find work. In the end, it was always his fault. He should have given his nephew a larger share of his food, should have tried harder to find work, should have knocked on the baker’s door instead of breaking the window.

“I shouldn’t have touched him.”

He raised his brows at Rivette, questioning.

“I... his collar was crooked and I thought... I should have restrained myself.”

“Surely this wouldn’t –”

Rivette shook his head more fiercely this time, his own plea for Valjean to let the matter drop.

To Valjean, this was absurd. A mere touch would not send Javert jumping into the Seine. He knew Rivette would realize this in time and so was content to cease pursuing the matter.

He turned his attention to Javert. Could he sense the cold that was seeping into his bones, the relentless chill that was made worse by his drenched clothes? It would be inappropriate to suggest removing the inspector’s clothing. Valjean scanned the unresponsive body from head to feet. To his relief, Javert had not yet begun shivering, and the little color he had regained meant he would no longer be mistaken for a corpse.

He was considering making a request of Rivette to lend his outer layer when Javert coughed again, but this time no water came out. Tension eased from around Rivette’s eyes and the mouth that was thinned into a line reverted to its natural curve. The coughs were but the body’s reaction, yet they heralded hope that the mind may soon follow.

If Javert could wake at any moment, then there was one thing he must know. He steadied himself.

“Officer, you said he freed me.”

“He told me he let you go, Jean Valjean. You are a free man.”

 _You are a free man_. How many nights had he dreamed of this, for he had never dared to hope for the same during his waking hours! And yet despite the leaping of his heart and a fit of tremble that was spreading relief all over him, Valjean sensed something terrible lurking behind those words.

“But _why_ did he let me go?”

Rivette shrugged as if it didn’t matter. _He let you go_ , the gesture said, the final verdict of a man who embodied the Law. But it did matter. Javert wouldn’t have let him go if he had been of sound mind. And—thinking back to their earlier encounter—Javert was already not well in the fiacre, asking strange questions and carrying himself with that same air of despondency that had alarmed Valjean to search for him until God in his mercy led him to the river just in time. He thought further back to this strange day, to their encounter at the barricades. Tied up against a post, Javert was just as he had remembered: proud, self-righteous, and disdainful of a certain convict. This meant whatever had become amiss with Javert—and it most certainly wasn’t Rivette attempting to fix his collar—it had occurred after he was freed.

The image flashed before him all of a sudden, Javert refusing to leave the barricades until Valjean shouted at him and fired the shot, his eyes first defiant, then with a strange gleam that Valjean had thought at the time to be anger, but it was more than that, wasn’t it, the anger masking the confusion and turmoil of a man unmoored from how he believed the world ought to behave...

And here was the answer to his own question.

“It’s not you, Officer, you did not upset him. It was me! _I_ let him go, at the barricades. He wanted to die and I denied him. And so he felt obligated to free me in return. But a bargain was never my intent. Believe me, there was so much senseless dying that even if I wanted Javert to die—and I didn’t, Officer, before God I speak the truth—I wouldn’t have had the _right_ to kill him!”

 _He_ did it. Javert was not himself because of him. Javert was lying half-dead by the Seine because of him. And if Javert woke to the sight of him, Valjean was certain he would feel so overwhelmed that he would seek death again.

The realization was like eating the sweetest cake only to discover he had ingested poison. He would rather to have swallowed something bitter, to not have been granted freedom before knowing that it had cost a man’s life. Valjean let his eyes fall shut as he bid farewell to what was never truly his. There was but one way to be certain Javert would not hurl himself back into the Seine. He knew what he must do.

He turned to Rivette, who had stiffened next to him, clearly feeling unease at being in forced company with the wretch who caused such grave injuries to the superior he admired.

“Officer Rivette, I have but one request if you would grant it: let me go home to my daughter for a day. I will give you my address. Come anytime tomorrow and as I have promised Inspector Javert, I will not resist arrest. Please,” he added, cutting off what words Rivette was about to say. “If this is the only way to ensure that Javert will live, then I wish it.”

-

“Then I wish it.”

The words reverberated in Rivette’s ears, in his head, and through his entire body. This Jean Vajean, who was he? He was proposing his own arrest as if discussing the weather, giving up his freedom as if the prospect of spending the rest of his years in chains was but child’s play.

Rivette had known about Jean Valjean for years—anyone who spent a day in Javert’s company would know of this man. He had always pictured him to be dangerous and violent, and yes, Jean Valjean was very strong, as his sore shoulders were reminding him. But as he considered this impossible convict, the words that came to his mind were self-sacrificing and... good.

He studied Jean Valjean, this man who had gone anxious in anticipating arrest. The first time Rivette laid eyes on him, he was covered in filth rescuing a revolutionary, heedless of his own peril. He mentioned he had a daughter and a home, which hinted at a life of respectable citizenry. He invoked God as his witness, and by God, if the sight of Javert alive and breathing wasn’t proof of loving one’s enemy, then nothing in the world would fulfill that commandment. And he clearly posed no threat to society—there was Thénardier still on the run for that.

Yes, his shoulders were still sore, but was he also not enraged and uncontrollable at the sight of Javert gray in the face? On their less-than-presentable actions here by the river, they were equal.

Having examined his encounters with Jean Valjean, Rivette could conclude nothing that should take away this gentleman’s freedom.

Valjean had dropped his gaze, slipping so easily back into the role of a convict that it grated on Rivette—a good man should not have to bow before an officer of the law! And Jean Valjean was good, though he was more of a wild dog than a tamed puppy. But dangerous was not the same as evil. Rivette considered the man before him. He could choose which Jean Valjean to see. If hours ago he could only see a lawless convict, then here and now he was beholding Javert’s rescuer, someone who deserved respect.

“Monsieur Valjean.”

Shocked eyes connected with his before quickly dropping again. Rivette waited. He would stand here for as long as needed until Jean Valjean allowed himself to be treated as an equal. His resolve startled him, this willingness to associate with a fugitive of the law, and he suddenly understood Javert, could see why he was unable to contend with both the sinner and the saint—or the martyr in this case. No, he refused to allow Javert’s misguided sacrifice for Valjean to be followed in turn by Valjean’s groundless sacrifice for Javert. Fools, both of them.

He, too, was a fool. He had allowed that moment in the fiacre to cause him such anguish when Javert was clearly already unwell. It was Valjean who drew him out of his self-recrimination. Was this man not, then, also his rescuer?

Valjean shivered, and Rivette’s heart seized at the thought of how cold Javert must be. Surely urgency made brave men out of the timid, for without giving it thought, he reached a hand under Valjean’s chin and forced their gazes to meet. There was no time to waste.

“Listen man, you did not cause what happened to Javert. Nor did I. What happened here was his own doing. And in truth, I do not wish anything different, not if what you did was the only reason he returned from the barricades alive. I thank you for saving Javert’s life at the hands of the insurrectionists. For this alone I am indebted to you.

“But do not think that the task to keep Javert safe must only be borne by you. Pray to God for his continued protection if you wish, and I will do the same. But you’ve saved him now twice. Let me also bear this burden. Let me watch after him.” He loosened his grip, conferring a release that had already been granted, and waved a vague gesture toward the world above. “You go home to your daughter and live as a free man.”

This time, Jean Valjean took hold of the offer of freedom like a man dying of thirst had been given water, although considering present circumstances, water was quite undesirable and Rivette conceded that his mind was too tired to conjure a more suitable comparison. All the same, Jean Valjean was free, and... he was choosing to remain in Javert’s presence.

“We should keep watch over him until he wakes.”

Rivette did not object. He had no intention to desert Javert. He lifted his hands to unbutton his outer coat, only to be halted by a tug at his elbow. Valjean’s touch was gentle.

“But let us remove ourselves from here and observe him from a distance.”

And to leave Javert? “I rather think –”

“Officer, you work with Javert, do you not? As have I, in the past. We have both come to know him. He is a proud man. Let him believe providence had washed him ashore, for God has indeed spared his life. We can spare him the shame.”

“And if he jumps again?”

Jean Valjean lifted his head to the sky as if he could see into hours from now when the sun would rise and birdsongs would fill the air. Night would pass, his very gesture seemed to declare, and with it, Javert would pass from death to life.

“Perhaps he won’t if he doesn’t see us. He will believe God has commanded him to live.” There was a certainty in Jean Valjean’s voice, and sensing the same hope within him, Rivette was persuaded.

“And with us here, he can’t die,” Valjean added with defiance, and Rivette’s lips twitched upward despite himself. He decided he liked the man, both the reformed citizen and the convict that still had fire in him. “If he jumps again, I will fish him out of the water.”

It sounded like a promise, so Rivette added his own: “And if he accepts life, then I will stay with him until he is mended.”

He did not know what tomorrow would bring or how long it would take to heal Javert’s body and mind, or if he still intended to resign from the police. But Javert was stubborn, and if he believed some higher Authority had ordained him to start on a new path, then he would surely devote himself to walk in it.

Whatever this new path, Rivette resolved to walk by Javert’s side.

For now, Rivette reached down and positioned Javert in a way that his muddled mind upon waking would believe he had been washed onto the landing. He was careful to place Javert where he’d be secure. He then removed his outer coat and tossed it to the side as if the Seine had pulled it off. The thinner fabric of Javert’s shirtsleeves would dry and the summer air would bring warmth to his body. As Rivette laid Javert down with utmost care, Javert mumbled something incoherent before going still again. Relief flooded his chest. Javert would wake soon.

“He cannot be left alone for long. He will grow suspicious if given too much time to work out his circumstances. When he stirs, I will come down from the bridge as if responding to an unusual activity while on patrol.”

He felt a smile on him and looked up to find Valjean’s expression radiant despite the surrounding darkness.

“I’m glad Javert has found a friend,” he said, and Rivette almost believed him, his will too weak to refuse this unthinkable title bestowed by a man who didn’t know the meaning of impossible. Valjean trailed his gaze toward Javert, dipped his head in a silent benediction, and began walking toward the steps that led to the world above. “Come, Officer Rivette. We will keep watch over him until he wakes.”

 _I will return_ , Rivette promised, then rose and followed after Jean Valjean.


End file.
